Poems (Coolidge)/The Father's Hand

by Helen Elizabeth Coolidge

THE FATHER'S HAND

I long to hold it—yet I grope
 Along the narrow way;
The flesh is weak—the spirit fails,
 I cannot even pray.

I long to see it—yet the night
 Enfolds my spirit still;
So frail am I, how can I know
 What is my Father's will.

I long—yet all the while to me
 Outstretched is that dear hand;
And all my utter helplessness
 His love doth understand.

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I hold it—else had I been lost:
 I see, though eyes be dim;
Outstretched it is, and in the dark
 I still may lean on Him.